


Silm Snippets

by CurufinweAtarinke



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Gen, Tragedy, curvo is a good dad and tyelpe loves him, feanor is a good dad and his sons love him, will add more character tags as i go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-12 15:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21478531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurufinweAtarinke/pseuds/CurufinweAtarinke
Summary: A place for all my silm character interaction stuff that isn’t long enough for full fics
Comments: 8
Kudos: 63





	1. Tool Envy

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to alackofghosts for being my sounding board for all these <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curufin and Celebrimbor in the forge

“What is _that?_ exclaimed Curufin, eyeing Celebrimbor covetously.

Celebrimbor immediately hid the item in question behind his back. 

“What’s what?” he asked innocently.

“Don’t hide it, I _saw_ it,” exclaimed Curufin, sidling round the worktable. “That’s a new file! Let me see, let me see!”

Celebrimbor gave up attempting to conceal the tool, and resorted to holding it above his head. “No! You’ll just steal it!”

“That is a blatant lie, you horrible son!” retorted Curufin, jumping in an attempt to grab it. “Stop holding it out of reach!” He gave up jumping, and said, “I regret wishing for you to outgrow me, you terrible boy.”

Celebrimbor grinned. “I bet,” he replied.

Curufin leant against the workbench, apparently giving up. “I’ve had a new file on requisition for _ages_ and they still haven’t filled it. I could make my own tools of course, but one of the elves who fills orders is particularly skilled at smithing tools.”

“Is now a bad time to mention the new hammer I got as well?” Celebrimbor asked cheekily.

“I’ve had a new hammer on request too!” said Curufin. Realisation dawned on him. “Where did you get them?”

Realisation seemed to dawn on Celebrimbor too. “Actually, I think I have something else to do-“ he started, inching his way towards the door, before breaking into a sprint.

“Come back here and give me my things!” cried Curufin, chasing after him. “I didn’t raise you to be a thief!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loosely based on a conversation i had with a colleague about his lovely new socket wrenches


	2. The Rudest Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nerdanel and Tyelpe

“Tyelperinquar!” said Nerdanel sternly, and had to hide a smile as Tyelperinquar froze and looked up at her guiltily. He looked so much like both his father and his grandfather with that expression, although she supposed that she was one of the only people to have ever see them wear it. “That was a very rude thing to say about your cousin. What would your father say?”

Tyelperinquar didn’t even appear to think before saying, “He’d say ‘Well done, now insult Turukáno too.’”

Nerdanel couldn’t help her lips quirking. That definitely sounded like Curufinwë. “Probably not the best person to have used as an example,” she said. “What would your mother say about it?”

Tyelperinquar did mull over this for a second - Nerdanel knew he saw his mother much less than his father. 

“She’d ask if the insult was well crafted and witty, and if so it would be acceptable,” he said finally.

Nerdanel sighed. She didn’t know Costamë well, but she probably should have known better.

“And all my uncles would probably say the same,” Tyelperinquar continued. “And Grandfather.”

Nerdanel decided to give it up as a bad job. “This is probably the rudest family in Valinor, despite my best efforts,” she said, patting Tyelperinquar on his head and finally allowing herself to smile as he screwed his face up at her clay covered fingers in his hair.

“You’re turning out well though,” she said, and his face relaxed into a grin that made her heart feel full. She was glad that though things still were frosty over her and Fëanáro’s separation, Curufinwë had relented to allow Tyelperinquar to spend time with her.

“Thankyou, Grandmother!” Tyelperinquar said cheerfully.

“Even if you can be very rude,” she laughed.


	3. Nightmare Realised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt by cycas on tumblr - curufin + fear

Curufinwë was breathless and terrified. The battle had been nothing like Alqualondë, which was a frantic mad rout in the streets. Here, their foe had been organised and ready for them, and for a relatively unblooded force, it was a hard fight. The power of the Trees was still strong in them though, and they had prevailed, chasing the foul orcs back over weeks. Then it had all gone wrong.

Father had chased even the pitiful remnants of Morgoth’s forces back to the gates of Angband, and his sons had lost him as he gave pursuit.

“He left our sight!” cried Curufinwë to Maitimo. “We _must_ find him!” Fear filled him, and he knew something was wrong.

“I am sure that Father is fine,” said Maitimo, but he clearly didn’t believe his own words. It was an automatic attempt to soothe a younger brother, Curufinwë knew. After all, Maitimo was pushing his horse as much as Curufinwë was pushing his.

“Where are the others?” Curufinwë shouted.

“They are behind,” replied Maitimo. “They will be with us shortly.”

They stopped together at the sight that met them. The orcs had fled to the gates of Angband, and they had been joined by Valaraukar.

There was only one small, dark shape amidst the bright flame still standing, and it fought with reckless abandon. Curufinwë felt as though his heart were in his mouth.

“Father!” he heard himself bellow, as if from a great distance, as he watched the figure fall like a marionette with its strings cut.

Maitimo swore next to him, and it was with a distant hope that their brothers were on the way that they charged.

Curufinwë was crying as they reached them, though he did not recall when he started, and he felt the tracks of his tears evaporate from the heat of the corrupted maiar. He and Maitimo fought until their brothers’ timely arrival with the rest of their force managed to drive the Valaraukar back enough to remove their father and escape.

As Curufinwë looked down at Father’s body, the flame-bright glow of his soul outlining each wound like a crack in a vase, he knew his worst fears were realised.

He would not let go even as he burned.


	4. Creative Differences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feanor gives a young Caranthir a pep talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt from bluedancingkittykat - moryo + embroidery

“Can you just do me a favour?”

Carnistir looked up in irritation at Tyelkormo, who was waving a pair of grubby looking trousers.

“I’m busy,” said Carnistir, gesturing to his hand frame sat on his lap. He had hoped to use the afternoon to finish this piece of embroidery, but it appeared his brother had other ideas.

“Yeah I know, but these have a hole in, and that’s not exactly important or urgent-“

Carnistir knew Tyelkormo didn’t mean it in a nasty way, but he saw red all the same. “Fix your own damn clothes,” he snarled.

“But you’re the best at this,” Tyelkormo pressed, seeming genuinely unsure as to why he was causing such offence. “Can’t you just-“

Carnistir threw his scissors at him and stalked off.

Later, Father found him sulking in Macalaurë’s music room. Macalaurë never minded if Carnistir joined him as long as Carnistir was a quiet and reasonably attentive audience, and Tyelkormo tended to avoid it as listening to endless scales and repeated bars of song was not his idea of fun. Also, Macalaurë understood the value of a hobby that wasn’t completely practical in what it created.

Father gave Macalaurë a Look, and Macalaurë immediately found something else to do outside that was apparently urgent enough to be done _right now_. Carnistir made a space next to him on the comfy window seat, and his father plopped down next to him, and slung his arm around him, drawing him to his side in a hug. He was warm as usual, and it was a comforting heat against Carnistir’s cheek.

“I’ve spoken to Tyelkormo,” said Father. “He’s fixing his own trousers.”

Carnistir sighed. “I know he meant no offence, and I shouldn’t have thrown my scissors at him.”

Father was grinning when Carnistir looked up at him. He never was very good at disciplining them, after his own father’s very lenient parenting style. Carnistir knew it was a bone of contention between him and Mother.

“You probably shouldn’t have, no,” Father said breezily. “But I’ve spoken to him, and you know Turco isn’t one to particularly hold grudges, especially since he wasn’t injured. He’s agreed that he should probably learn to sew up his own clothes, with the amount of rips and tears he’s always getting.”

Carnistir smiled a little at that, before blowing out a breath of frustration. “It wasn’t that that bothered me!” he said, slumping in his seat. “It was his insinuation that the project I was doing was somehow _lesser_ because it wasn’t something _useful!”_

Father laughed. “He’s rather in the wrong family then, if he believes that art must have function as well as form. But I don’t think he really thinks that. You know your brother, he can speak before proper consideration sometimes.”

Carnistir curled further into his father’s side, and the arm around him tightened in response. “But I feel like it’s not good enough,” he confessed quietly. “I’m just a hobbyist, it’s never going to be as good as I want it to be. Maybe I should just stick to things that are more useful. I’m never going to be-“

The weight of Grandmother Míriel hung in the air, before Father dispersed it with a snort.

“That’s absolute nonsense,” said Father decisively. “Genius is one thing, but hard work is always needed if it’s going to _go_ anywhere. I see a hundred “genius smiths” a year, but there’s no one I’d rather have in my forge than one who picks it up a little slower, but is willing to put in the hard graft to be as good as they can be. Not only this, but your own mother makes the most beautiful sculptures that have no _function_ but to create emotion in those that regard them.”

He paused for a second, as if deciding if he could say something. “Your grandfather told me that your grandmother was often questioned as to why she didn’t put her talents more towards the making of clothes, as opposed to simply embroidery. She could, and did, but her heart lay in her own patterns and designs. There is a room, in the palace, that is full of her projects both finished and unfinished. They are valuable despite not being wearable or “useful” because they are beautiful, and they bring joy to look at.”

Father rarely spoke about Grandmother Míriel, and Carnistir hung on his every word. He felt lighter, somehow, hearing this.

“May I see your current project?” Father asked, and Carnistir scrambled to grab it from next to him.

“It’s beautiful,” said Father. “May I have it once you’re done?”

“Of course!” said Carnistir. “I wasn’t sure if anyone would like it because it’s pretty abstract-“

“I’d love it,” said Father. He continued without any hesitation. “Your grandmother would be proud.”

**Author's Note:**

> taking prompts on my tumblr and here, if you have anything you want me to have a stab at writing, drop me a message or comment :)


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